


Playing Favorites

by edibleflowers



Series: Only God Knows Why [10]
Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not supposed to have favorites, but Chris does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Favorites

**Author's Note:**

> yet another in this little series; this particular piece is some fluffy Choey. For Ann.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you reach your destination: an anonymous hotel in Oakland, California. One hotel is like the next, and you pile out, stumbling sleepily after the tour manager; Joey wraps an arm around your shoulder and puts his head on yours as you walk, and you're just fine with it when he collapses beside you. You know that JC and Kristin take one of the other rooms, and Justin follows Lance into a third, and you're glad of the arrangements.

It's mostly because, while you love all of the guys, you think Joey is your favorite. You know you're not supposed to have favorites, it was one of your rules, but there you go. Some of your fondest memories involve him: quickies in broom closets, or luxurious long fucks in jacuzzis and saunas and the backs of limos. Joey loves doing it in strange places, and you've picked that up from him.

When you wake up, Joey is still asleep. You smile, because he's sweet in slumber, undeniably younger, his face slack and mouth open. You press a kiss to his temple and then lurch to your feet.

You make coffee in the suite's kitchenette, and the scent draws Lance like bees to flowers. JC stumbles out next, giving you a sleepy kiss before helping himself to the next mug. He sits down next to Lance, who's reading the paper and stirring his sugared coffee, and you take two mugs of black back into your room.

In your absence, Joey has claimed most of the bed, rolled over on his stomach with his arm around two pillows. The sheets have come with him, so they're wrapped tight around his waist, nicely outlining the smooth curves of his ass. You set a mug down on the nightstand and take the other with you, gulping it while you get all your shower stuff ready.

You're in the middle of rinsing your hair when the door opens, and then Joey is pulling the curtain aside and stepping in behind you. You give him an annoyed look, because the sound of the door opening startled you; but he presses the warm length of his body to your back -- in particular, an impressive morning hard-on -- and you promptly forgive him.

After he scrubs your back, he pushes you against the back wall and goes down on you, and at that point you're not only forgiving him, you're thanking God and Jesus and every saint you can remember that Joey Fatone was put on this planet with his wickedly talented tongue and his hot mouth and his big fingers, one now pushing thick and slow into you and making you come in his mouth and it's the best fucking feeling ever, so, yeah, you're pretty thankful for Joey.

You start to move to reciprocate, but he bats your hand away, saying, "No, your knees. Go dry off, I'm gonna take my shower." You're grateful for that, grateful enough that you don't even offer a token protest, just slip out of the shower and grab a towel. Joey sings lustily as you rub at your hair, and you smile; today it's "Always Something There to Remind Me", but tomorrow it might be something from a Puccini opera or maybe a Ramones tune. Joey's broad tastes in music sometimes surprise even you.

You're on the bed, watching QVC, when Joey comes out of the bathroom. Damp and smelling wonderful, he flops down next to you, and you lazily critique the cheezy merchandise for a while, your hand on his thigh, moving over his erection. Eventually you push him back and return the favor paid you in the shower. You love Joey's cock; you're not ashamed to admit that. You're intimately familiar with his taste, with the weight and shape and musk of him, and the way it makes your jaw ache when you open your throat to the wide head and take him all the way in. Even more, you love the way it makes him writhe and groan beneath you; the noise that comes out of him is as beautiful in its own wise as the voice that rang out in the shower earlier.

When Joey comes, you gag, as always, but you enjoy that part too, because it's always something special to you to know that you made him climax, that it's because of you he was turned on in the first place. He's radiant and flushed, glowing, and he grins as you crawl back up the bed and into his arms. You're hard again, but Joey's hand steals around your dick and you know you won't be for long.

Later, in the limo on the way to a radio interview, you curl up on him; his other arm is around Justin, but he winks down at you, and you close your eyes and snuggle happily. You like to hope, sometimes -- especially at moments like this -- that just maybe you're his favorite too.


End file.
